living God’s truth | Elaine Olsen

A Mother’s Plea for Purity…

March 5, 2009

WARNING: For the faint of heart and weary worn, this may not be the post for you today. I’m a wife and a momma, and I’m sportin’ a “tude” tonight. May God cover my words with an understanding that exceeds my fleshly bent toward some ranting and raving. You’ve been warned, friends…

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“Your adornment must not be merely external—braiding the hair, and the wearing of gold jewelry, or putting on dresses; but let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the imperishable quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in the sight of God.” (1 Peter 3:3-4, NAS).

We watched her walk across the room—me and three of the “boys” belonging to my household. I call them boys because when it comes to the matter that I am about to discuss, men are quick to make that leap into their boyhood wonderings and wanderings of the heart. I don’t imagine them meaning to, but as I watched them out of the corner of my eye watching her out of the corner of theirs, my emotions began their usual flare up and before long, the claws came out, and I was ready to pounce.

On her and on them.

An adult Christian woman walking her stride with some pride and some pomp and some “full of herself” was enough to send me over the edge. She should have walked better. She certainly knew better, and while I’m confident that my “boys” had little intention of having their eyes being inclined in her direction, she had every intention of them being there. Snuggled tightly in her golden Saran Wrap, there was little doubt as to the impression she intended to create. Even though her flesh remain covered, the lines beneath that covering drew a fitting tapestry that left little to the imagination. When she dressed for the evening, she did so with the objective of being noticed.

Mission accomplished, and none of us are the better for the viewing. At least not on the front side of such a moment.

Now, before you think I’m jealous … before you chalk this up to a legalistic way of doing life with Jesus … before you hand me your “this is the fashion” or “everyone is wearing this” … before you offer me your objections, you need to know this.

The reason my emotions are strong, the reason I can say that we women dress with intention, is because I am a woman who dresses with intention. And in a season past, I was a woman who dressed with only one intention in mind.

To be noticed. To hold sway over a man’s eyes, a man’s heart, a man’s propensity to lustfully and heartily sin because my need to be “thought about” reasoned itself more necessary and more important than any momentary transgression on his behalf. I know. Yucky. Sleezy. Dirty. So unlike what you might imagine me to be.

Thankfully, I am no longer that person, but I was, and I know some yuck when I see some yuck, and it breaks my heart. Not just for the women who are wearing the yuck, but for the “boys” who are being caught in the crossfire. And lest you think your “boy” is too old for the yuck, think again. I’ve known men in their eighties who aren’t afraid to approach the yuck and to boldly ask the unimaginable.

So what’s my point? Why go here on a day when you, perhaps, were expecting something a little more clean, a little more righteous, a little more holy?

Because this is an issue of cleanliness, righteousness, and holiness.

What we’re wearing today says a whole lot about Who we’re wearing on the inside, and I don’t mind telling you that when the night’s festivities came to a close, I sat down with my “boys” and had a frank discussion with them about why a woman wearing golden Saran Wrap is probably not the kind of woman they need to seek as a life-partner. Not because she’s not worthy of the love and grace of heaven, but rather because she’s not ready to be their bride.

A woman who is not first dressed as the bride of Jesus Christ is not going to be able to wholeheartedly and fully love them in the way that God has purposed. They won’t be able to love her in return, at least not in the way that she deserves. Yuck breeds more yuck, and what God has in mind for our hearts is a purity that stands in stark contrast to that yuck.

Unfortunately, yuck is the order of the day. You don’t have to vision very far to witness its glaring assault. Not just on the computer, at the movies, in the magazines or on the television, but sometimes in the very places that we tout as sacred. Shame on us for thinking that we hold the market on purity just because our churches, our schools, and our universities carry the name of Christian. We don’t, and it’s time that we seriously consider the truth that God is walking amongst our lampstands, seeking those who are willing to uphold the tenets of our talk with the tenacious and intentional purity of our walk.

Purity is not an accidental pursuit. Yuck doesn’t happen without intention, and if we’re going to truly market our lives toward kingdom value, then we are going to have to be more vigilant about the message we’re sending via our flesh. We are the carriers of an extraordinary kingdom. Better start dressing like it.

So, what do we do? How do get past the Saran Wrap and the fleeting glances that dance their damage into the hearts of the innocent?

We speak our faith to those who sit under our yoke of influence. Boys and girls. Those who are dressed with their yuck and those who are entreating the yuck with their minds. We don’t chastise and beat them with our Bibles and our pharisaical approach to doing life with Jesus; rather, we tenderly and truthfully speak our Father’s heart in the matter. We don’t just make rules; we explain the merit and the purpose behind the rules. We remain vigilant to the task at hand and not balk at the first sign of resistance.

We tell them how to appropriately dress—not with the bawd and brash of lustful living, but rather with the gentle and quiet of a heart hidden in Jesus Christ. We assume nothing as it pertains to their knowing the correct posture of a sacred dressing. Rather, we teach them—show them through our actions, our words, and, most importantly, through our willingness to invest some time on their behalf.

Too many of us are content to grumble, to marinate in our emotional “hot,” and to leave the teaching up to someone else. Is the subject too touchy, too yucky, too seemingly “not necessary” as it pertains to your life? I understand. It’s hard to know how to combat the ever-increasing yuck that is accumulating in swift order. But if we don’t at least try, then we have resigned this battle and conceded this portion of our kingdom influence over to the enemy who is more than willing to seed and breed the yuck at every angle until Saran Wrap is the order of the day and our lusts become the deliberate conversations of our heart.

Time for talking things out, friends. Time to start uncovering the deepest needs of the heart in order to bring about the sacred covering of our flesh. The clock is ticking, and this generation of boys and girls is in desperate need of some training by some saints who are willing to speak the truth in love, and to live the truth all the more.

Would you be willing to do your part? To walk to the closet and open up your heart for examination in the matter? Today, within your reach, there is someone who needs to know the appropriate cloaking of purity. Your someone is not mine, but all someones are important and precious in the sight of God.

Indeed, this may not have been the word you were looking for today. It wasn’t what I was looking for; still and yet, I believe there is some merit in the saying … at least for this momma who is trying her hardest to raise some godly men who will view women as the treasure that they are rather than the trophy that so many of them are trying to be.

Purity is a commendable fight and one that is worthy of my tenacious resolve. I pray that you feel the same.

Thanks for listening, friends, … yuck and all. I will get to my promised post about the “theology of the one” in my next writing. As always,

~elaine

Living Stones from Brokenness…

March 2, 2009

“But as you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by men but chosen by God, and precious to him—you, also, like living stones are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices to God acceptable to him through Jesus Christ.” (1 Peter 2:4-5).

Last night, I had the consecrated privilege of being with the women of Kenansville Baptist Church and of bringing them the night’s “entertainment” for their annual ladies’ banquet. I had no idea what was “on” the menu, and I’m certain that they could have said the same regarding my contribution to the evening.

Each year, they gather in rich fellowship to enjoy a delicious meal served to them by the men of their church—men donned in their crisp white linen and bow ties and with the gentility to rival any star five maitre’d. The tables were themed and decorated according to individual liking—an unspoken contest of sorts. Some with the rich decadence of roses and gold and textured linen. Some with the more casual of camping and family memories and snowmen. All tables were immaculately laid with the finest love and care of heaven.

Kenansville, NC. Perhaps not the place that the casual passerby would peg for fine dining; still and yet, the place of its happening last night, and I felt so honored to simply be the recipient of such a lavish consideration.

During the savoring of delectable cheesecakes and while the coffee was sipping hot, I was asked to share the “word” that God had laid upon my heart. It was a hard fought word for me … one that had been working its way in and out of me for the better part of three months as I prepared for our evening together.

It is a word that has confronted me, challenged me, and forced me to a deeper point of understanding as it pertains to my place within the grand scheme of God’s breathing and extraordinary kingdom.

Becoming a “living stone from brokenness.”

To articulate the depth of what that “phrase” has meant to me over the past several years would take too long. Still and yet, I tried, at least for the better part of forty-five minutes. I imagine its truth to be a “word” that will continue its shaping over me in the days and seasons to come.

Why?

Because I, like you, live in a broken world where pain and grief and all manner of sufferings will occasionally be our portion. If not in our own flesh, then most certainly in the lives of those who share our tables and our pews. And while I’ve not had a bad life, I’ve had a broken one at times; I bet that you could voice the same.

The true measure of a difficult season’s worth doesn’t always shine forth in the immediate. That’s the way of brokenness. It buries. It works us and sometimes wearies us to the point of no longer believing that our lives were meant for anything more than simply “holding on” and “getting through.” I know. I’ve lived it, and I’m not so far along in my life with Jesus to occasionally revisit that view and hold it as my own. But here’s the truth of the matter—God’s truth, not the truth according to me and my weary worn flesh.

Living stones are the way and life of a resurrected heart. To be the contrast—to walk and ruminate in the death and dying of a rubbled estate—is not to take Jesus and his suffering for what it was … for what it continues to be.

Our ticket to freedom.

Not freedom from the carrying of our own cross. The cross is the way of the crucified life. But the freedom in knowing that it can be done, through us and most days, in spite of us because within us is the pulsing and breathing witness of the One who enables us to rise and live above the truth of our broken estate.

No one has ever known and will ever know the full measure of the brokenness that our Savior willingly took upon himself on our behalf. If anyone had a reason to balk at the weight and the carry of some heavy stones, it was our Lord. But he didn’t, and he doesn’t, and for us to think that Calvary didn’t matter—that it was all for nothing because somehow we’re still considerably burdened and wearied by the load that we shoulder—well, that is to miss the mystery and the truth of a living stone’s surrender.

When we bring them all—the broken and the battered stones of our past … of our now—when we surrender them to the foot of the cross and release them to the hands of the One who earned the privilege of holding them as his own, then we, like the living Stone, become the makings of an eternal kingdom that is meant to last.

Your broken … my broken, cemented and rooted within the brokenness of the cross, stands as a living witness and monument to the truth of God’s magnificent grace.

It doesn’t make sense, but it sure paints lovely. More than the eyes can see, more than the ears can hear, and more than the mind can imagine. An incomparable glory that shines with the fingerprints of God as he works our broken into his portrait called forever.

Living stones from brokenness. Our gift to God’s “kingdom come.” Our surrender to God’s “kingdom now.”

What a honor to offer Him my everything. What a humbling to be allowed to write it and to join alongside Him in nights like last night, when I am given the platform to speak it. May I never get over and beyond my awe of such moments. Thus, I pray…

Thank you, Father, for the gift of brokenness. For the truth of what it means to you as you work it into your kingdom plans and your living witness. I don’t have much to offer you beyond what I have lived, and what I have lived has not always been my best; still and yet, you ask for it, and your asking is enough to warrant my surrender in the matter. Make me a living stone, Lord; one like You that breathes with the story of Calvary’s grace and that sings with the melody of heaven’s love. Humbly I bow before your throne and thank you for the consecrated privilege of sacred participation in your kingdom. Amen.

~elaine

A Quick Word from the Bench…

February 26, 2009

“When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, ‘Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.’ Simon answered, ‘Master, we’ve worked hard al night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets.’” (Luke 5:4-5).

I just returned from our church’s Ash Wednesday service. My husband used this passage from the Gospel of Luke as the scripture focus for his brief, albeit powerful meditation. And while I didn’t intend to come “off the bench” this week with my words and my sweat accordingly, I must at least come into the midst of our huddle and offer you a thought—a word that struck me profoundly and pointedly at the moment of its hearing.

Could it be enough to simply obey the voice of the Master because he “says so?” Could his “say so” be as much as we’ll ever need to warrant our “because you said so” in all our many matters? Whether it be…

To cast our nets into deep waters because he says so.
To anchor our boats in the harbor and to follow because he says so.
To walk a top the raging seas because he says so.
To be prepared in season and out with an answer because he says so.
To feed the 5000 because he says so.
To embrace the least of these because he says so.
To carry our cross because he says so.
To feed his sheep because he says so.
To wash feet because he says so.
To love because he says so.
To pray about everything because he says so.
To go into all the world because he says so.
To _______________________ simply and profoundly because he says so.

Isn’t his “saying so” a worthy enough word to necessitate our awe and our immediate obedience?

It should be.

God’s words via his Word are life and breath and the stuff of eternal and lasting significance. And if for some reason in this season of beginning pilgrimage to the cross where God made good on his word once and for all, if you’re choosing the words of man over the words of God, then you have chosen less. You’ve obeyed the cravings of your sinful flesh, and your life and heart will be found wanting at the end of the day.

At the end of this life.

You will walk to the grave missing out on the deepest catch of your sacred and intended purpose, and you will forsake the overflowing grace of God’s intended sacrifice that was always meant for your keeping. And to miss that, friends, all because his “saying so” isn’t good enough to yield our “doing so,” is to miss everything.

Let it not be so my fellow pilgrims. Instead, let us willingly concede our wills, our wants and our words, to the One whose word never fails, is always true, and is guaranteed to lead us home into safe harbor where the unseen faith and trust of our “now” gives way to the sights and the splendor of our “next.”

It’s enough for me; I pray it enough for you.

Thanks for the huddle time, my good and kind readers. May God be with each one of you as you take up your cross this Lenten season and carry it all the way to Calvary. He is so worthy of the climb. As always,

Bench Time

February 22, 2009

We’re not going to win a single game this season. I don’t have to imagine otherwise. It’s just one of those years. The forecast came about mid-way through our first game. After fifteen years of doing this “thing” called rec sports, youth sports, middle school and high school sports, I can tell early on how things are going to pan out. I’ve logged enough time on the bleachers and driven enough miles to warrant my badge of expertise.

Thus, very little enthusiasm accompanied me yesterday morning as I traveled to my youngest son’s basketball game. Per usual, I had very low expectations going in, but by the time the game was finished, I exited with something quite different. Something more than my usual thankfulness for the final buzzer.

I left with some perspective.

Watching my older two sons play basketball over the years has been a delight for me. Partly because my younger years provided me with more energy for the “doing,” but mostly because of their strong determination and agility for playing the game. I never had to wonder if I was going to get a “show” from my boys. They’ve excelled at life, both on and off the court. They understand the game and have the tenacious drive to ramp up the scoreboard. Whenever they lace up their shoes, you can be sure that they are playing to win.

I don’t see that drive in my younger son. And while he loves playing the game, he’s less concerned about his stats and more interested in simply playing his position on the court … in cheering for his teammates and in his “thumbs up” accordingly. Jadon’s instincts for the game are different than his bigger brothers, and just yesterday, while watching my son as he stood fastened to his spot, I had a thought.

A question or two for myself, especially as it pertains to my personality and my instincts for playing this game called life.

Am I more interested in my stats—in my taking the charge toward raising the score? Or, am I content in my role as a team player … a thumb’s upper … an attaboy and attagirl cheerer? Do I see myself as a lone ranger in the game or as an integral part of a process that calls for my participation rather than my sole determination? Where is my comfortable fit?

For those of you who know me, you don’t have to linger very long with that question. My instincts for the game fall in line with those of my older sons. I have a tenacious and persistent resolve for driving up the scoreboard. I feel the tremendous need to walk a victory at every turn, and quite honestly, am often disappointed if I’m not part of the reason behind the win. If it’s going to be, I’ve got this idea that it’s always going to be up to me.

And while I am confident that God appreciates my willingness to dig in and drive hard to the basket for a score, yesterday He gave me the gift of a contrasting option. An option that allows for “passing the ball” on occasion rather than feeling the need to carry the load of the victory in selfish isolation.

Some days are meant for my full throttle run up and down the length of the court. Some days are meant for my obligatory thumbs up to my teammates as I park it on the bench and watch them raise the score. All days lend themselves to my participation, but not all of them need my frontline stats to bring a victory home for the team.

True in theory; more difficult to live in the everyday. But I need to … live it, even as I preach it.

Not all occasions call for my leadership and my perfection therein. I’ve spent a lifetime pursuing that option, and quite frankly, it’s exhausting some days. And while I always want to put my best foot forward, both in life and in spirit, I think, perhaps, that God is deepening my outlook in the matter.

Today, He’s asking of me a hard question, the answer of which speaks the truth about how I am choosing to “play” this life that I’ve been given. Simply put…

Do you trust me with your bench time, elaine?

Deeper still…

Are you willing to go there, elaine, … to step aside and offer up your support while your teammates have their go at running up the scoreboard?

Further still…

Is it enough, elaine, to simply be on the team or do you prefer to single handedly be the team?

Good questions; a painful wrestling and just exactly the pondering that I was left with as I watched my son leave the court at the conclusion of his game, no worse for the wear and completely at peace about his level of participation in the matter.

Could it be that after 42 years of doing life, the time has finally come for a shift in my thinking about my participation in the matter? Could it be that after over fifteen years of watching my children play sports, I’ve finally come across a child who more fully understands the art of team play and who is willing to log bench time as well as court time because he knows that all of his time belongs to a plan intended to bring about a good and final conclusion?

Yesterday’s conclusion may not have been the conclusion that I wanted. After all, I’m after a win. But as I enveloped my son in my arms after the buzzer blew, and as I listened to him describe the game in as much vivid detail as his eight-year-old mind could articulate, I’m not so sure that we didn’t get a win.

For Jadon, all of life is pretty much a win, whether on the bench or whether staying glued to his position on the court. Either way, he enjoys the gift of participation. And that, my friends, is a contrasting option that I need to receive as my own.

Thus, I am going to spend a few days on the bench this week watching you run up the scoreboard, all the while offering up my thumbs and my hearty cheers on your behalf.

I am not running this race alone; if “it’s” going to be, then “it’s” going to be up to all of us to see it through to conclusion. Sometimes from the bench. Sometimes sweating it out on the court, but all of the time, loving the game because I’ve been allowed to play it with you by my side.

I can’t think of a finer group of teammates with whom to pass the ball. Consider it passed, sweet friends. Play well. Play hard, and do it all for the love and glory of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I’ll see you on the other side of my bench time. As always,

Running Above Our Average

February 19, 2009

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. (1 Corinthians 9:24).

I didn’t mean to find them.

They were hidden there amidst the accolades of my former season: diplomas, caps and gowns, tassels and cords, a Master’s Thesis, my first diary, my first attempts at creative writing neatly organized in a bright yellow folder. A banker’s box worth of yesterdays was crammed at the back of my attic and the purposeful intention behind my husband’s search a few nights ago.

I was looking for a high school photograph of myself. What I found, instead, was a treasure trove of memories. All of them precious. All except one.

I don’t know why I saved it. Of all the many gracious and tender mementos that I had packed away for future viewing, I’m at a loss as to why I kept this one.

A battered blue pocket folder filled with eleven papers that I had written for my Advanced Composition Class during my freshman year at college. All typed on onion skin paper. All amply marked with “red,” and all of them, every last one of them, crowned with the academic genius of a “C.”

Average papers, friends. The problem? I wasn’t an average student. “C’s” were not my portion. At least not in the academic realm. Life, perhaps a different matter, but when it came to grades, I made the grade. Needless to say, when I pulled out that memory, my heart skipped a beat as I recalled the disappointment that I had felt when receiving those grades over twenty years ago. And while my husband and senior son provided their good humored ribbing alongside their accompanying shock, I quietly nursed some old wounds that reared their ugly in vivid detail.

It’s been happening to me a lot lately … this retrieval of old and sometimes painful memories. I’m not sure as to the exact reason why, but I think that it has something to do with an upcoming talk that I will be presenting about becoming “a living stone from brokenness”—my life of almost forty-three years presented in a forty-five minute nutshell. And friends, that’s a whole lot of broken crammed into a very small window of opportunity.

I have my outline and pages of corresponding back-up material ready to go. There is even a scripturally based “formula” prepared for taking my listeners, even as I have taken myself, from a state of brokenness toward a state of repair. But for all of the words that I have planned in advance, for all of the preparations that I have put into this one event, none have touched me so deeply as the ones that have presented themselves to me in vivid and living color over the past few weeks.

Real people. Real situations. Real memories. Real brokenness.

And here’s what I think, especially as it pertains to those of us who are endeavoring to humbly walk our accompanying talk.

Whatever God is “working on” in us, whatever he is refining and tweaking in us toward his good purposes and our perfected end, this is the very thing that he allows to confront us in raw and unedited ways. At unsuspecting times and, yet, in perfectly determined measure.

I’ve come to expect God’s unexpected; thus, when it arrives, I have a choice to make. I can bury it, or I can run with it to see where Father God will lead. And since burying usually leaves me as I am, I am prone to choosing the latter because I’ve finally come to the conclusion that running with God is his intended adventure for this heart of mine.

Accordingly, I ran with my battered blue folder all the way to my computer on a prompt from my son.

“Let’s Google this guy and see if we can find him, mom.”

Within seconds, I had access to this professor who was responsible for the blight on my academic record and for my former status as “average.” On a whim, I emailed him, reminding him of my presence in his classroom and about the amount of red ink that he so willingly expended on my behalf. Our families were acquainted with one another. Growing up in a small town and attending the corresponding college dictates a familiarity between the “locals” that is rarely gleaned in a larger arena.

Consequently, I was fairly confident that he would make the connection. He did, and the next morning a beautiful and humble response was waiting for me in my “inbox.” He acknowledged his “fussiness” over his grading in the past and went on to thank me for introducing him to the second half of my life. He’s added “peace for the journey” to his favorites list and also shared with me about some of the personal pain that he is currently experiencing in his own life.

In return, I thanked him for his gracious reply and for the privilege of praying on behalf of his family. I did pray, and I will continue to do so. Why?

Because God intends for me to run with him wherever the wind blows. And just this week, it blew me backward and then forward again to land me in a better place of understanding—a holier place of perception that breathes with the living pulse of an eternal Father who promises to work all of my “things” … all of your things … toward his good and perfect end.

And that end, dear ones, is anything but average. It rates much higher than a “C”, and for the record, it carries the red marks of a Savior’s love who isn’t content to leave us as we are, but who bled all over the pages of our manuscripts so that we could carry him as the most treasured memory of our always.

Unexpected moments—the real and raw and perfectly timed occasions of doing life with Jesus. I’m ready to run. I hope that your heart cries out for the same. Thus I pray…

Keep us to our run, Father, and to our willingness to embrace your wind beneath our feet as it blows. Let not the brokenness from our yesterdays prevent us from our healing in our today. Instead, use them as your building blocks for our tomorrows—for the seasons that are waiting to breathe in fullness because we’ve entrusted our past into your faithful and tender care. Take it all, Lord, and use it for your glory—my history and my now. Humbly I offer them both for your gracious and completed end. Amen.

Copyright © February 2009 – Elaine Olsen

~elaine

PS: Just in case you’re wondering, Mr. Professor’s red ink was warranted. After reading some of those papers…

Have mercy! Shalom.

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